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The alliance is strategic only.
Nobody seems to care for this particular rumination, seemingly the individual crews of the Heart Pirates and Strawhats becoming one again upon each of their meetings.
After a certain point, Law gives up on the idea of splitting hairs, opting to find quiet corners to… not hide in. Well.
The Sunny’s crows nest is an interesting space. The opposite of any sort of spot on the Polar Tang. Wide, open, sunny– certainly on brand.
It seems to double as a training room; swords, weights and sharpening stones lining the far wall.
Law hefts Kikoku, hardly aware of her considerable weight as he balances it upon his palm, eying the swords. He places her against the wall, lifting one of the offered training swords and balancing it similarly, eyes sweeping it’s sharp and carefully maintained surface.
Meticulously cared for and well made.
The blade feels light in hand, years since he last hefted a sword shorter than his own height, and perhaps, rustier for it.
It’s true that much of his specialty lies in partnering Kikoku with his ability, that his true ability lays in his capability in healing, not harming.
It’s no excuse.
He moves to the center of the room, placing each foot carefully, slowly, precisely, and raises the blade. He flows one form into the next–achingly slow, purposeful, reminding each of his muscle fibers their capabilities, the natural fluidity they should be able to find.
He does it until it is fluidity only he moves with, as though breaking through rust. He does it until a bead of sweat appear under the brow of his cap, deeming his form warmed up enough as he strips from his jacket and hat, takes a moment to place them, folded and neat on a nearby chair before returning.
He moves quicker now, muscles remembering the lighter weight, movements, fluidity in a dance. He remembers the singing feeling of life or death at the edge of a silver blade. The cold bite of snow and numb noses, when they were small and had nothing but the grimace of determination.
A sword was the first thing he had learned to fight with. To protect himself with. To protect others with. It would do him better to remember as much, especially where he plans to go next.
“Wanna spar?”
Law is jarred from his thoughts, but his form doesn’t break. He follows through with his movement, landing in the thinness of air as though he can see the ghost of a face there. Faces he hates but doesn’t know. He stows his blade before tilting his head to acknowledge his new companion.
Zoro looks curiously at the blade in his hand, very obviously not Kikoku, a clear question in his eye when they meet Law’s. He smirks an acknowledgement, a fog in his head that is quickly dissipating.
“It’s been a while.”
Zoro shrugs, rolls his shoulders, clearly not impressed with excuses. “So?”
Law moves to make space on the mat for Zoro, points the blade in invitation to the spot across from him.
Zoro doesn’t hesitate to pull two blades. Law raises a brow, although he doesn’t comment despite the clear disadvantage this puts him at– using an unfamiliar weapon against two. Zoro hadn’t stated any rules, and Law is free to switch out his weapon whenever he should choose to.
It’s clear Zoro’s curiosity has taken lead, or else his bloodlust for battle, because he doesn’t wait a moment longer before taking stance and lunging forward, both blades leading. Or else, maybe this is simply how Zoro fights. Never on the backbeat.
Law blocks, albeit crudely, surprised at the delicate weight and length of his own blade despite preparations. He regains his footing quickly, slipping from under the blades and flying forward in an attack purposefully wide-open.
Zoro knocks the point away, turning the move into a heavy blow around Law’s left side. Forced to block it with not just blade, but pressed arm against the blunt tail of the blade, Law grits his teeth.
Zoro’s full and horrific force is in the weight of his two blades, as though he fully intends to crush straight through the steel to get to Law, and Law forfeits the disadvantage, swapping the blade in his hand deftly and immediately for Kikoku.
The weight difference of force throws Zoro for a loop and Law uses the momentum to knock the blades away, creating a force of space between them with both hands against the weight of the hilt.
Zoro sizes him and his blade up from the same distance and Law gives him a small smile. Zoro seems to take this for the taunt that it is because he places his blade in his mouth and draws his third.
The rules of of engagement seem to be evolving and Zoro suddenly bears down on him faster than he had before. They trade blows, Law barely keeping up with Zoros pace and drawing him away with the length and weight of Kikoku.
The fury with which Zoro’s red blade strikes out is bloodthirsty and relentless, a sort of impassioned fighting that is purposeful more than elegant. It suits Zoro, sweat beading and running down his forehead as Law pushes himself to his limit in keeping up with him.
His determination, his very all, in every one of his swings. As though this is life and death itself; rooted to the fact that to fight is to live. Something Law would do well to remember.
Law brings Kikoku down through an opening at his shoulder that Zoro closes through sheer force of will, knocking Kikoku from it’s path with the white blade in his mouth, the two blades in Zoro’s hands drawing a cross at the thick of Law’s throat.
He’s been pinned to the wall and he raises one hand from his blade in acquiescence.
“I admit defeat.”
Zoro’s lingers– and Law imagines he can feel the very heat of his body throwing from the distance between them. Had it been a little cooler, he would have expected steam to rise from his skin.
“Like what you see?”
Zoro grins, finally tugging back from his space.
“You didn’t use your ability.”
Law is impressed at his ability to speak around the blade hilt in his mouth.
“That would be cheating.”
“No rules.”
“You want me to kill you?”
“You could try,” Zoro says, with a roll of his shoulders. It’s not goading, but rather a statement of fact. His posture has relaxed, his blades delicately placed back in their sheaths with a reverence that seems to come offhandedly to Zoro. It’s charming.
“I could,” Law agrees, shrugging as he slides Kikoku into it’s sheath. When he looks up, Zoro is looking at him again, eyes oddly intense, although the smile at the corner of his lips hasn’t dissipated yet.
Law doesn’t know what to do with it, feeling like he can’t simply leave. He returns the stare for all of 5 seconds before he can nearly feel the anxiety forming in the top of his spine. Lack of sleep is threatening is threatening his common sensibilities.
“What?” Law asks, the irritation of curiosity getting the better him.
Zoro makes a noise in his throat.
“You’re pretty good for a doctor.”
Law immediately glowers, mouth tugging into a frown.
“Don’t insult me.”
“It was a compliment.”
“Shitty compliment.” Zoro laughs as Law hefts Kikoku over his shoulder, tugging his hat back on despite the way the sweat slicks his hair down to his forehead.
“Next time,” Zoro says behind him as Law opens the door to leave. He has no idea what ‘next time’ he might be referring to, but he tilts his head in acknowledgement either way. He can’t say he didn’t enjoy the exercise.
–––––––
Oddly enough, they spend most of their time together.
Quiet, companionable. Zoro never seems to feel the need to break the silences Law imposes as he reads over his books– or at least pretends to, often looking out over the top of it to appreciate the way Zoro wields his weapon.
After several minutes of this Zoro turns to him and they meet eyes. Law doesn’t shy his gaze, neither of them budging for long ticking seconds before Zoro speaks.
“Wanna spar?”
Law watches for a few moments longer. He’s let himself be lulled onto an island of unreality. They’re playing at a game here. At least, Law is. He has plans to set in motion and he’ll be dead in the coming days either way if everything goes the way.
Zoro doesn’t know that. Neither do the other Straw Hats.
He tucks away his book and takes off his jacket and hat preemptively, folding and setting them on the table he had been sitting at. Zoro takes that for the agreement that it is and this time, he makes space for Law on the sparing mat.
Law hesitates holding Kikoku before placing it at the wall again, picking up one of the other practice swords.
He doesn’t know why he does it this time. Like he’ll remember why he’s alive, an insane impulse despite his cool exterior to reignite his will to live despite the mounting weight hanging like a guillotine over his head.
Zoro grunts, disapproving. Law ignores him, pulls the sword from the scabbard and once again rests the weight in his wrist.
“I won’t go easy.” Law here’s the ‘this time’ even though it goes unsaid. He glowers.
“Stop insulting me,” Law says with a jeer, and he doesn’t let Zoro get the first step in this time before he’s launching his offensive. Zoro looks surprised by this, like he’s somehow memorized the way that Law fights in the few interactions that they’ve had.
Maybe he has.
No, Law is never truly one to set the pace, following in step and creating, thinking, turning scenarios and machinations over and over in his head until his opponents are left inside out.
He doesn’t want to think. It’s all he can do these days. It costs him mistakes he can’t afford. The last time he’d been anything close to clearheaded had been the last time him and Zoro had crossed blades.
There is a simple purity in the sweat.
In Zoro, he begrudges.
Zoro only draws his one blade to block Law’s onslaught.
“Draw your other blades.”
“I don’t need them to not go easy,” Zoro grunts back, the force he puts behind his blade knocking Law back for just a moment before Law slides under and into his space again in an attempt to upend him.
He doesn’t have the same amount of strength or force, only the guile of maneuvering through weak places and spotting openings to fit into.
It’s not as comfortable this close together, the intimacy in a dance of survival. Law has always appreciated people two steps away from him, so that he alway has time to think before he moves.
This was his choice, his impulsivity. Minor, for anyone else. Infuriatingly out of Law’s own control in this reality.
Zoro won’t let him think. He drives into him, relentless in equal measure and Law refuses to give, like the last act of desperation in a dying man.
He isn’t thinking, and that’s the problem as much as it was the solution. Head to head, he cannot beat Zoro in strength alone. As they fight, his moves grow too forward and Zoro reads through them in a moment, meeting his blade deftly and disarming him violently, blade once again stuck to Law’s throat.
He’s lost, but he refuses to raise a hand to say it– his own amber eyes burning fiercely to meet Zoro’s grey. From this distance, Zoro’s hot breath fans out of his cheek, and this time he doesn’t have to imagine it– he can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“You’re interesting.” Zoro says, and it stumps Law.
“How so?” Law asks, smirking once again, the coolness of his mask slipping over his features.
“You fight like you’re dying.”
The smile falls from Law’s face, always off guard when Zoro opens his mouth. They are left with no masks and no delusions. There’s a foul taste in the back of his mouth. As though Zoro can read the weight of someone’s blade just as the words in a book.
He’s becoming tangled in this moment, wrapped in Zoro. He is not the solution, but the snare.
“Shut up.”
He leans forward into Zoro, inadvertently pressing into the sword at his neck, but Zoro pulls it back almost immediately, instinctually. Zoro’s gaze flickers down to Law’s lips and for a long moment, they just breathe in each others space.
But he is dying. In a faraway abstract way. He could have these things, for now, but why drag others down? Why create ties and unnecessary attachments? He is not this impulsivity that takes over him whenever he’s in Zoro’s presence, the way reality seems to swim around him in his presence. It’s likely due in part to the exhaustion.
So Law leans back out of the dangerous nebulous territory of them before he makes a mistake. Zoro waits a few moments longer before stepping out of his space and Law grabs Kikoku and leaves without so much as a goodbye.
––––––
Interestingly enough, the next time Zoro asks Law to spar, neither of them are in the training room. It’s late, too late, and Law pours himself another coffee, as though the thoughts in his head need another destructive line to feed them.
“Wanna spar?”
Law blinks a few times, the whirlwind of thoughts coming to a slow close as he processes the words. He turns to Zoro who looks only half awake and as though he never actually intended to be in the kitchen at all.
“What?”
“Wanna spar?” Infuriatingly, Zoro repeats himself.
“I heard what you said. I meant why?”
Zoro shrugs.
“Why are you drinking coffee in the middle of the night?”
For some reason, this takes Law off guard. He knows Zoro has been watching him– he’d been doing his best not to do the same back, prying his eyes away in quiet moments with a self control he suddenly seemed lacking.
Maybe he hadn’t given Zoro enough credit. Or maybe he had simply thought him uncaring enough not to notice. After all, why would he?
It seems Zoro is full of surprises, because instead of turning and leaving the room when the silence stretches on too long for comfort, he makes his way towards law and tugs the mug of coffee from his hand to place on the counter. He hasn’t stopped looking at Law the entire time, as though waiting for him to make a move.
He is waiting for Law to make a move, Law realizes. It’s startling. If Zoro had pushed, Law can’t say that he wouldn’t simply have pushed him back again, twice as hard. It makes him swallow around a nauseating and uncomfortable feeling of desire that builds in his chest.
This is a mistake.
But for all his solidity, Zoro gives when Law pushes him into the counter, tastes the hot of his mouth for himself. Zoro’s hands are warm when they brush past his neck, cup his face, causing a shiver to run down Law’s spine. They reach up to tug Law’s hat off his head when Law leans in again.